


The Fell Star Devours

by Raikishi



Series: The Fell Star Consumes [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Claude von Riegan, Creature Fic, Dragon My Unit | Byleth, F/M, Human/Monster Romance, Interspecies Relationship(s), Pegging, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: “Byleth,” he says, convincing himself it sounds less desperate than it does, “Please.”“No,” Byleth tells him, pressing a thumb in his mouth when he parts his lips on a protest. Her eyes glimmer. A dare on her face, “You will sit here. Like a good boy. And wait until I deem it fit to grant you my attention again.”PWP for Creature!Byleth/Claude in which Claude is still a very willing sacrifice
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: The Fell Star Consumes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777048
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	The Fell Star Devours

Byleth is not the affectionate sort. 

Crafted alone in an empty sky with only starlight to give her company; it is not a huge surprise to find that she keeps her claws and wings tightly bound to herself. 

The Fell Star does not initiate cuddling. Does not trail after Claude the way he does her. No absent touches and careless caresses. No wandering fingers no matter how inviting Claude makes himself. He is left to drift around her, orbiting her like a moon. A smaller object drawn into her space and never the other way around. 

It’s the dragon in her. Marks her cold-blooded and makes her a cruel mistress.

Claude frowns as he flops dramatically on the floor, tilting his head up to look at her upside down. Byleth does not even twitch, giving no indication that she’d heard him. Her gaze is outside, drawn by something he cannot see and does not particularly care to investigate.

He’s more interested in snaring her attention, his skin prickling with a need to have her hands and gaze on him. 

It wasn’t as if he was much deprived. 

He kept their hands twined firmly together whenever the opportunity presented itself. Made a point to tuck himself against her front whenever they arrived at a new inn, insistent on them sitting like that as he soaked in her presence. Had grown a beard because she’d awoken one morning before he’d shaved and found the fledgling beard fascinating. Had had him in her lap like a pretty pet, stroking her fingers over his jaw and chin, and then fucked him so hard he’d limped for the next three days. 

Claude shivers now at the memory. Of her fingers on him. The heady heat of her attention. He drags his fingers absently over his jaw, rubbing a little too hard where the jawline met ear and his mouth waters, wanting more.

Claude shimmies across the floor. Tugs lightly at Byleth’s skirts and then much more insistently, when she remains unswayed, her gaze affixed on something outside that was clearly less important than her dearest husband.

“Byleth,” he pouts at her. 

It goes unseen but a little crack of a smile, indulgent and loosely amused, twitches the corner of her mouth as she utters a noncommittal hum. 

Beneath the intently vibrant sunset, she is human and not. 

Not that she will ever truly be human. 

There is an air to her presence. Something distinctly other beneath her skin, bleeding out from her pores and marking her ethereal. Her hair, dark blue in her human guise, swallows sunlight in great gulps, pulls orange and gold from the air, and gives nothing back. At just the right angle, the bridge of her nose and the fine bones of her cheek flash silver scales. 

Claude wants to follow the line of them with his tongue.

His fingers curl over the fine bone of her ankle, stroking up the gentle curve of her calf. He sets his mouth to her skin, marking slow absent trails up her leg and he purrs aloud when her hand settles in his hair. Eagerly, Claude pushes into her touch, expecting her fingers to curl tighter. To yank and pull at him. Set him about until she liked the picture he presented. 

He’s disappointed to see her staring outside still.

At a cat.

Claude scowls at the runt thing and it ignores him with shameless ease, large yellow eyes round as saucers as it stares down a dragon in human guise. 

It doesn’t blink. 

Neither does Byleth. 

The runt thing daring to do what so many other animals did not, remaining resilient in front of a predator that could swallow it up. 

Unknowing or willingly defiant, it was impossible to tell. 

Claude flutters for a moment, caught between amusement and indignation when he realizes they’re caught in a staring match and decides to settle firmly on indignation when Byleth’s grip on his hair loosens.

“Wife,” he purrs, catching her hand and putting it back. He squeezes her leg as he turns his voice honeyed, “Surely, I am more amusing.”

Byleth’s hand goes sharper, blunt nails turning into claws, raking down the back of his scalp.

His lashes flutter on a sigh, eager to have her claws trend lower. He mouths at her thigh as he works to untie her skirt, shuddering at the bite of claws against the back of his neck when he nips a little too hard. 

Despite the soft white of her skin, Byleth does not bruise easily, steadily refusing to until he rubs his beard hard against the inside of her thigh. Only then does her skin pinken and then flush with scales. 

He repeats the motion. Over and over. Tracks a slow path up her leg until he’s left a line of white scales like a constellation on her thigh.

Claude hiccups on a breath when she slides her foot into his groin. Her toes glide up from behind his balls, ankle catching the underbelly of his cock before she shifts and sets her heel firmly against his cock, loosening a low wave of pleasure he bucks into.

He feels Byleth’s attention like a physical thing. The room falling away beneath the low dark sweep of her eyes.

“Wife,” he hears himself utter wobbly words around a clumsy smile as he glides a hand over her crotch, teasing at her slit.

Byleth doesn’t deign to reply. Only yanks at his hair, lighting a firecracker of pain and pleasure over his head. The motion hard enough his hands drop away, falling to his side. 

Byleth’s gaze is slow and intent. It drags down his face. Over his mouth and throat. The dark pupils going slitted and hungry as she examines him. Lingering over parts of him as if trying to decide which piece of him to sample first. Throws him back to the night they first met as sacrifice and goddess.

He rocks experimentally against her. Just to see if she’ll allow. His answer coming in a rough shake that makes arousal tighten his belly and loosen a groan.

“It seems, you need to learn patience,” she says, slow and grave with a resolute determination he wants to pry at, the brat prince in him aching to unsettle her. 

“What can I say, my star, I am helpless to resist my beloved wife,” he says and his ears perk at the subtle clicking noise in the back of her throat. 

He spies a smile on her lips. A there and gone little reflex as if she’d found him pleasing.

Delight pulses through him in one quick run, deep pleasure in his bones at being the only one in the world to know that the Fell Star was not impervious to praise. The only one to lure a smile from her with words alone. It makes him braver, makes him want to press harder. Claude licks his lips as he lifts up on his knees, intent on scrambling into her lap. 

His breath leaves him in one hard whoosh when she dissuades him of the notion. Her claws on his shoulder and head as she shoves him to the ground hard.

He pants at the treatment, knees twinging as she bends his head. She arranges him so his forehead presses against her lower leg, allowing him nothing more than a view of his hard cock nestled against the supple curve of her leg. By his side, his hands fist uselessly when he tries to move again.

“I said _no_ ,” the Fell Star snarls and something instinctive and deeply human in him cowers before the predator in the room. 

“Byleth,” not a whine. Not a whimper. 

Definitely not. Claude von Reigan, shakes himself, defiant in the knowledge that he was not nearly so easily tamed. He twists his head, nips at what little he can reach of her wrist and calf, pretending his cock does not throb when her gaze hardens. 

“Down, princeling,” and the title sparks arousal deep in his gut.

Summons a vision of the Fell Star breaking down the doors of a golden palace in order to claim him on a throne he cared little for, his legs spread like a harlot for all to see. 

Amusement flares in her eyes. His darling wife reading the desire from his skin and though a part of him bristles at being so easily understood, there was another part of him that purred at the easy knowledge and ached to go belly up for her.

“You will wait here,” she tells him in a slow deliberate tone, sharp and clear in its decisiveness. 

Her claws track down his throat, following the thrill in his pulse down to his chest. His shirt front comes apart with one sharp yank, flimsy ties dropping with no resistance. Byleth’s brows tick, the amusement growing in her eyes and he tries to say something to that but the words shatter in his throat when she pinches a nipple viciously, pain like a crackle of lightning across his chest and on the back of his tongue with pleasure nipping quickly on its heels.

Claude watches in silence, entranced by the sharp edge of her claw as she teases the dark nub between her fingers. He knows intimately how her claws feel against his back. His butt. The inside of his thigh as she held him apart to be taken. The brutal strength of her grip around his cock when she denied him release.

His thighs twitch, trying to squeeze together. His body aching to jerk forward. To rut like an untrained hound –

Claude sets himself hurriedly back in place when Byleth’s hand stills. Holding himself rigid until she came back to him, moaning eagerly as if trying a siren song to lure her. 

Byleth hums and the approval in that note makes him tremble, dripping desperately in thin pants, craving her touch without the flimsy barrier.

Byleth tugs his hair and he arches for her, eyes sliding shut as she laves a tongue over his chest. She smells of starlight and the sky. Of petrichor and iron and something deep and full of smoke. Something burned into existence that in turn consumed the flame she’d been forged in. He feels that fire now, rolling in the back of her mouth as she breathes over his chest, quivering at the tease of teeth as she sucked and toyed with his nipples until they were so sensitive they ached. 

He whimpers as the many rows of teeth on his chest track lower, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth in anticipation as he tries to hold himself steady. 

“Byleth,” he hisses when she gets a hand around his cock, thighs trembling as he tries to part them wider for her. Tries to present himself better. To paint himself a more enticing meal.

Claude buckles into her grip, groaning as her thumb rakes over the cock head, hissing her name again when she drags a claw over the slit. Dimly, he’s aware he’s leaking steadily into her grip, feeling the tacky mess of sweat and slick in his pants, clinging to the fabric and holding them fast against his skin.

“Take them off,” he pleads, only barely aware of his own words as Byleth strokes him. 

Her touch is light and gentle as if she had all the time in the world and he drinks in her attention like a man stranded in the Almyran deserts. He tugs at his pants and she bites on his shoulder so hard he loses his grip, gasping wetly in her ear as she starts to stroke him faster, her grip branded with heat. Dragging him closer and closer until he was on the very verge of release, teetering at the very edge before she drops him.

His shout cracks in the middle as he doubles over, left adrift with no one to support him, entire body twitching as his hips jerk, desperately seeking out what he had been so cruelly denied. Words twist on his tongue, mangled and set aflame as he husks out a long desperate croon. His hand jitters when he looks up at Byleth again, trembling beneath the weight of her attention, feeling her gaze like a brand against his skin. She bends him down when he tries to rise up again and he utters another groan as his gaze drops to his cock, glimpsing the ruddy head peeking out beneath the stained waistband of his silk pants.

“Byleth,” he says, convincing himself it sounds less desperate than it does, “ _Please_.”

“No,” Byleth tells him, pressing a thumb in his mouth when he parts his lips on a protest. Her eyes glimmer. A dare on her face, “You will sit here. Like a good boy. And _wait_ until I deem it fit to grant you my attention again.”

His mind blurs. Goes fuzzy and short, the constant stream of thoughts of his everyday tripping over a stone dam as his entire body goes hot, something wicked and jagged racing up his spine. Humiliation merges with deep shameless pleasure, twining together and jerking his cock hard against his lower belly. Heat rises fast to his face when he sees Byleth’s eyes dart downwards, some part of him twitching and wanting to hide but another wanting to arch into her and beg for more.

He suckles at her thumb, protest still lingering on his lips. The brat prince beneath his skin roiling, demanding her attention now when he asks for it, ready to do anything to gain it. His hands twitch and Byleth sets her thumb a little firmer against his tongue, tips her head closer to her face. 

Her jaw sets firmly, expression allowing no argument. No pleads. The threat of a predator hanging low over his skin.

“Your reply, princeling,” she says and he nods, exhilaration tightening in a thick knot in his belly. She looks at him, eyes flinty.

“Yes, Byleth,” he rasps out, the jagged unsteadiness of his voice making him quiver.

“Good boy.”

The words set him firmly back on his heels. Approval over his skin like a balm, a rich wine holding the promise of a bold aftertaste. 

She leans in to kiss him and he parts his mouth willingly for her, nips at her lip at first and then edging back, begging her to take chase, moaning when she fists her hand in his hair and tilts his face to hers. Her tongue, slightly too big and forked, runs rough over the sensitive corners of his mouth, teasing until his head swims and the world recedes.

Claude catches scales on her face when she pulls away. The silver-white of them high on her cheeks and jaw. Pride beats a noisy drum in his pulse, satisfaction purring in his body to know he’d not been the only one affected. He tosses a wink and a smile at her, unable to help himself before he lets his head drop into her lap. 

He can feel her gaze on his bareback. His entire body twitching at the low rasp of her breath, roiling beneath the feel of her eyes on him, wanting desperately to go belly up for her.

“Brat,” she huffs after a long moment, her hands carding through his hair roughly at first before gentling to absent strokes as her gaze slips away again.

For him, the room dims beneath the rumble of his urges and Byleth’s presence. His mind still runs, Alymran forged and incapable of turning off, but he shifts through his awareness of the night market outside and the rumble of patrons in the bar below with passive acknowledgment. Drifting in Byleth’s vast protective reach for a long moment - only aware of the passing time because his mind cannot help but track the seconds. 

Desire settles into a low buzz. A bright firefly in his periphery, humming and vibrant, streaking over him in quick flashes, stirred by idle thought; the shift of Byleth’s leg, a memory of her mere nights ago fucking him so hard the walls had quaked.

He startles when she at last tugs him upwards, legs buckling as a streak of pain tears through his muscles and drops him heavily in Byleth’s lap.

“Oh?” he manages, sturdier than he’s thought he could summon as he rolls his shoulders back and presents like a cheap harlot. He manages a wink that falls to pieces when Byleth grabs his cock, his words shaking as she gropes him in a way that is almost clinical in her examination, “You ready for me now?”

“Seems you’re not ready for me,” Byleth says, with a low edge of disapproval that makes him startle. 

She tips his cock with her fingers, nudging the waistband lower until it sat snugly beneath his balls. He startles badly with a gurgled cry when she smacks him, flailing to catch the top of the window to steady himself.

The hit had been flat palmed and brisk.

Landing high on his thigh, the blunt breeze catching the tip of his cock. 

_“Another,”_ the plead dies in his throat as he watches with lurid fascination as the slit of his cock parts around a thick bead of precum, shuddering when as it dribbles down the length of him and stains his thighs. Rocked so hard by the slap he almost doesn’t notice her wing slip out and block the window until the moonlight is cut to just thin beams. 

Byleth’s eyes flash at him beneath the shadow of her wing, moonlight streaking over her face and marking her more predatory. More dangerous. 

The Fell Star on a hunt.

He wonders if she’d like to chase him down one day. Take him as he pretended to protest and has to shove at her shoulders now, gasping for reprieve as his cock throbs thickly, bobbing in the air between them.

Byleth smirks at him, a there and gone lift of her mouth that sets his blood aflame. 

She turns him, strong arms settling him neatly in her lap. His back to her chest. His legs bracketing hers. Knees wide apart. He shivers as she drags her tongue over the nape of his neck.

 _Scenting the pheromones from his skin,_ he remembers, arching to present himself better, purring at Byleth’s low rumble of approval.

“Ready yourself for me.”

Irrevocable command.

Claude’s hands jitter as he reaches for his cock, curling one hand over his shaft, the other against his balls. Starting off gentle because he can taste the sadism radiating from Byleth and knows she may never let him stop. He tips his head against her throat, leaning close against her ear to moan wantonly, desperate for advantages where he could carve them out. Delighting in the rough click in the back of Byleth’s throat as she bites at him. Her many rows of teeth dragging up streaks of fire over his flesh.

He’s fully hard in an instant. Leaking in three and trembling by the time Byleth starts teasing his nipples again.

“C-can I stop?” he gasps out, knowing the answer already, smothering a garbled yelp in Byleth’s arm as she reaches for him.

He sobs against her burning touch, cringing away as she smooths the palm of her hand over his cock, raking old scars and roughened callouses over the sensitive crown until he was certain he was cumming over her hands.

“Not yet,” Byleth decrees and he swallows a scream, so sensitive he burns with it.

He turns blurry eyes on her, out of his mind with need and she has the nerve to smirk at him. 

His teeth itch. Aching to dig into her arm. To retaliate. To snap back. Rebel. To flail against the constraints of her command until she took him across her knee or shoved him against a wall.

“Take up your cock again, princeling.”

Mutiny dies in his throat as he obeys, a hiss snaring his teeth as he allows himself a carefully slow stroke that nearly makes him shoot. He tugs at his balls, hands trembling as he tries to ease himself desperately back from the edge. 

A whine pitches the air when Byleth sets him to the ground, sharp and shrill in his own ears as he jerks towards her, barely remembering to hold himself still. 

_“Wait. Until I’m ready for you.”_

The whimper in his throat holds steady, trembling like dew drops on a leaf’s edge, pearlescent on his tongue, falling into a desperate groan when Byleth pets his hair as she passes.

“Good boy.”

So casually tossed out but he snaps on it like a trained pet, the praise like oil on his determination, dragging him back from the edge. 

“Don’t let your hand slow down,” Byleth says as she rummages through their scarce luggage and his eyes snap on her back hungrily, knowing well what she is looking for. 

Need shatters over him as if someone had broken a jar of it on his head, so desperately eager he physically aches to crawl after her, only dampened by her former praise. Some part of him still purring beneath the sturdy weight of a simple –

“Good boy,” Byleth says again and he whines as she lifts him in her lap again, spreading his legs wide as she arranges him back into position.

Her fingers, blunted as a human, slip into him, warm and slimy with slick and he clenches his teeth against yet another hurdle. Sweat beading his brows as she lays claim to his body, fingers twisting inside him, scissoring and curling, making space for where she would slide home. 

“Oh goddess –,” he chokes, his muscles straining and screaming with tension, losing the words on a sob as her tongue traces a droplet of sweat off his collar and down his back. 

“Wider,” Byleth hums and he struggles to obey.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs. The strain echoing in his thighs as he casts his legs over hers. His balls sore and full, an ache sweeping over his entire body in great waves. There’s a sharp flick of pain when she gets to three fingers. Not nearly enough to drag him all the way back down and he nearly bites his lip bloody when she withdraws and comes back with even more oil. The pads of her fingers rub sloppy over his hole and then breaking him apart when he clenches back for her.

One of them will break and he is positive it will be him, made half-delirious with desperation as she fucks him steadily, well past the point of merely prepping him.

“How do I want you tonight,” Byleth muses and he chokes, his mouth working over a groan that shatters at the edges and goes high, as her fingers slot hard over his prostate, “Should I fuck you?”

She chuckles over his desperate nod.

“Toy with you?”

And he buckles into her grip, uttering a wail he is certain echoes over the din and roar of the night market.

“Taste you?”

Her tongue treks over his hole, glimpse over the sensitive skin, trailing wet lines between her fingers and the gesture rocks him so hard, he tries to shoot around the iron grip Byleth has on his cock. He quivers in terror and heady desperation as thick rivulets spurt from the tip. Not-quite-an-orgasm but dangerously close. Disobedience tattooing warning beats against his skull, knocking the words from his mind and dragging them out.

“P-please, Byleth – I’m so sensitive,” he sobs, begging for relief, shaking his head even as he fucks into the tight clench of her hand, his voice ratcheting higher in desperation. 

He pulls for his tricks. Arches his back and turns blurry tears to her, keenly aware of how well he wore desperation on his skin, biting his lips until they felt bloody and raw, “I’ve been so good. M-mercy.”

He sees her expression stall. Catches his victory in her hungry gaze. 

“You have been, haven’t you,” Byleth looks at him like the first night, full of fascination and intense desire and so many other things he did not care to examine because she was tipping him forward. 

Arching his back. 

Her fingers slip out of him and Claude whines, high in his throat, head bobbing desperately at the first blunt push of her toy against him. She’s lost the mood to tease and he grits back a victorious grin, pleasure pounding in his veins at the thought that she’d been so stirred by the pretty picture he’d presented.

“Byleth,” he gasps, as her toy slides home and her fingers dig into the back of his neck and twist into claws.

She is gentle for a handful of seconds and then sets a brutal pace, pounding against his prostate and digging deep, grinding her hips hard until he drowns in the intensity of his pleasure.

“Hold it,” she warns him.

“Until you’re ready for me,” he sobs, clawing at the edge, his skin humming, Crest activating and dying, unsteady desperation and desperate want shocking it loose of his command.

“Exactly so, princeling,” her thrusts speeding up, her breath lifting in a harsh grind against his ear.

A sacrifice for a goddess. Taken to task.

He holds steady for her, clawing against the wall until his voice rang hoarse and his legs went weak.

She wrestles him to the ground when they do, her wings gouging the wooden floor like anchors as she pounds into him, wooden cock torturing his overly sensitive hole at a brutal pace that lingers on just the right side of pain. Snaring on the rim and then slotting firmly home. Her claws set vicious bruises into his thighs as she holds him down, leaning on him, and jerking him forward.

Scales bleed over her face as she shivers, the dark blue of her hair shedding away to a luminescent green as her teeth and fangs grow. Looming like a predator until he was swallowed up by it, caught in his pleasure. Her hand tracks over his cock, a burr of scales grinding hard over him as he mewls and arches, begging –

“C-can I come, please Byleth, may I please come for you?”

“Go ahead, princeling,” she pants out, not stilling, fucking him in a steady rhythm as she quickened her pace. Her teeth come over his nipples as he thrashes against the great bulk of her, orgasm swooping over him like a hood, shooting hard over his hips, thighs, and stomach. 

He clings desperately to her neck as she fucks him through it.

Her toy grinding against his prostate as she twists her hand over his cock, jerking every drop out of him until he thrashes with oversensitivity, continuing until her own pleasure crested. Her moans break over his skin, stirring him just enough to reach out to assist, bearing back against the toy to allow her something to grind against, half-mad with oversensitivity, until her pleasure erupted. 

Dampness slickens his thighs. The ground messy with evidence of the two of them but he cannot bring himself to care, fascinated by the wave of scales that comes over Byleth. At the graceless drop of her human guise. A dragon bowing over his still trembling form, tongue drifting over his chest, devouring the evidence of his pleasure.

“Again?” he asks with still shaking legs and a reluctant body, reading hunger in her eyes and wanting only to respond, greedily drinking in the attention that flicks towards him.

“Insatiable,” she accuses though he is certain she knows it is only her and he buries his face in her throat, spreading his legs wide as she slides home again, casting himself as a willing sacrifice to the greed of the Fell Star. 

**Author's Note:**

> claude limping to breakfast the next morning and then deciding it's not worth it because he's a pretty little princess: bylleeettthhh, carry me~
> 
> I need more fic in which Claude is a bratty sub who craves approval 
> 
> also this was definitely not how this fic started out but meh


End file.
